


Song For a Winter's Night

by ladydeathfaerie



Series: A Midwinter Night's Dream [9]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Feelstide 2016, M/M, Mostly Fluff, because there's a lot of that, there really isn't anything else to tag for, unless you want me to tag for snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8933686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydeathfaerie/pseuds/ladydeathfaerie
Summary: Clint and Phil both have vacation to take at the same time, so Clint convinces Phil to visit his childhood home with him. What does one do in Iowa in the middle of winter at Christmastime? Go sledding, of course! 

  "Barney and I used to go sledding on the hill out there," Clint said, tipping his head toward the front of the house, toward the sloping ground that hid the house from the road.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for Feelstide 2016. the prompt was sledding. you never know. it could happen!

The house wasn't visible from the road. It was set back from the two-lane dirt strip that the town called a road. It had been dirt way back then, too. What a person saw from the road was a broad expanse of green on either side of the dirt driveway, tucked away behind towering pines that created a natural fence at the edge of his property. And it was his property. He'd bought it some years back, paid cash for it, and had reclaimed a small piece of his childhood. 

Snow covered the gently rolling ground leading up to the house. In the summer, it was brilliantly green and the air was fragrant with trees and wildflowers. But now, the entire area was firmly within winter's grasp. Everything was blanketed with glistening white. Even the sky was overcast, the clouds thick and heavy and grey. It was the kind of sky that he'd learned as a young child meant more snow. He knew, if he lowered the car's window, that he'd be able to smell the cold, clean scent of coming snow on the air. Probably later tonight, after the sun was fully set and the temperatures had a chance to plummet further. 

The large SUV topped a gentle rise in the driveway, giving him a view of a low-lying area tucked behind a swell of earth. It was deep with snow, though the drive had been mostly cleared off. A thin layer of white stuff still covered the drive and by the end of his trip, he knew it would be dirty from the passage of tires. The house, too, was covered with white. The sloped roof wasn't too thick with it, but he thought he might have to get the ladder and the broom out come tomorrow. Knock some of the snow off the roof if it got too deep. For now... 

He brought the vehicle to a stop, put it in park and turned to look at his passenger. Phil had been strangely quiet for some time now. Every time Clint had glanced his way, the other man had seemingly been involved in the passing scenery. Stopping where they had had done exactly what Clint was hoping it would. Phil's eyes were focused on the house before them, staring at it with a silent intensity that gave Clint a moment of uncertainty. 

Okay. So the house wasn't the most beautiful or even the nicest one to ever be built. It was old and tired. And it wore its age almost as a badge of honor. He could imagine what it must look like to Phil, who had never seen it before. That one spot on the porch that sagged and squeaked when you trod upon it. The shutter on the side that was slightly askew. Patches of paint that were chipped and peeling. Some trim here and there that showed wear. The house needed some serious love. As did some of the outbuildings that surrounded it. The barn was in need of intense repair. 

He knew it shouldn't bother him that the place looked shabby. Those buildings were older than he was by many years, and time and weather had taken their toll on them. But he was bothered by it anyway. So he sat silently, waiting for Phil to say something. To maybe pass judgement on his monetary frivolity. To call him a fool for buying such a worn down group of buildings. It would be no less than he deserved, given the history of the place. But he'd had his reasons for buying it and there was nothing anyone could say that would make him regret his decision. He was a sentimental old fool and he knew it. 

Finally, after several long moments, Phil turned to look at him with an unreadable look upon his face. "This is where you grew up." It was a statement. There was no judgement in it. No disbelief. Nothing to tell Clint what the other man was feeling. 

"This is where I grew up," Clint nodded. He let his gaze slide across the snow draped landscape, his mind's eye perfectly recalling what it all had looked like when he'd been a child. "The farm had been in the family for a lot of years by the time Dad took it over. And, for a while, it was a happy place for me and my brother. I can remember days filled with sunshine and the scent of freshly turned earth. Or growing things. Or the less pleasant smell of fresh manure. There was once laughter and joy here. But Dad's drinking killed a lot of that. Dad's drinking killed a lot of things." 

"How long ago did you purchase it?" Phil asked him. 

"Not that long ago. When I got old enough, when I was capable of doing so, I began keeping an eye on the old place. It came up for sale last fall. I didn't hesitate," Clint replied. He put the SUV into gear and started down the hillside. "I was going to wait until summer, and everything had been spruced up, before I brought you here, Phil. But I couldn't wait. I had to show you where I grew up, even if only for a short time, as soon as possible. Christmas in the midwest is a special time of year."

Phil smiled then, one hand reaching out to rest against Clint's leg. "You sound like you're nine years old again."

Clint said nothing to that. To be honest, he felt like he was nine years old again, waking up on Christmas morning with excitement bubbling in the pit of his stomach. There'd never been much under the tree, but he'd always had hope that this Christmas would be different. He felt that same hope now. It was the first time in a long time. 

The SUV rolled down the gentle slope slowly, inching closer to the farmhouse. Just on the otherside, not visible from the road, someone had built a garage. It was big enough for two vehicles, set back and away from the house just slightly. A covered walkway extended from the garage's side door to the back of the house. Clint knew from experience that the back door opened into a mud room. It was a good place to leave winter gear wet with snow because none of it got tracked into the actual house. 

He put the vehicle into park again when they were in front of the garage and climbed out to open the door. Then he climbed back into the driver's seat and pulled forward until they were inside. Once the car was motionless, Phil was the one who got out and pulled the door down. Clint pulled the keys from the ignition, got out, and made for the back of the SUV. Together, he and Phil retrieved their luggage before heading silently for the door. 

They trudged along the cleared walkway toward the house, heads bent against the biting wind that had picked up after they'd gotten into the rented SUV. They were forced to stop a moment when they reached the back door so that Clint could slid the key into the lock. It felt odd to him that the door was now locked. It had never been locked when he'd been a small boy. And they were in rural Iowa, for Pete's sake. But times had changed and people were obviously leery of strangers now. 

He let Phil go in first, one hand snaking around the door's frame to flick on the light. After Phil had stepped inside, and away from the door, Clint followed him in. They spent a few moments removing their winter gear, which allowed the other man to glance around at the contents of the mud room. There was nothing special there. Hooks for coats. Mats for snowy boots. A few chairs here and there. One wall was home to shovels, fishing poles, and rakes. There was even an old toboggan propped up against it. 

After removing their coats and hats and kicking off their winter boots, Clint opened the door that would take them from the mud room and into the house. The kitchen, to be exact. It was the one room in the entire house that didn't look as old and worn as the rest of the place. That was because Clint had spent time and money updating it and making it look fresh. 

Stainless steel appliances went together well with the darkly stained wood cabinets. The lower ones had solid doors. The upper cabinets had doors of etched glass. Most of them were empty, though some contained dishes and other items one might find in the kitchen. The room was big enough for an island in the middle. It had a marble top, as did the rest of the cabinets, and a pair of bar stools of black metal. The floor was tiled, with a few thick accent rugs thrown down to keep it from being too starkly bare. 

"The rest of the house hasn't been done yet. I started with the kitchen because I can remember spending time in here with my mom. Some of my best memories come from this room," Clint told him. Phil nodded before carrying his suitcase across the room and through the door into the dining room. Clint trailed after, flicking on lights so that Phil could move about the place with ease. It was later than he'd planned on arriving, the weather bad enough to slow them down to a crawl in some places. Night would be settling around them soon enough, meaning that there would be little for them to do but get comfortable and wait for the sun to come up in the morning.

The tour ended in the master bedroom, where the two of them put their clothing away and stowed their luggage in the closet. It was a holiday vacation, set to last for at least two weeks, barring any world threatening event that required S.H.I.E.L.D.'s expertise or the Avengers' capabilities. Clint thought two weeks in the middle of Nowhere, Iowa would be a great Christmas present to both of them. Phil worked hard and rarely took time off. Clint... Well, his schedule was usually crammed with a multitude of duties that kept him busy through the year. Somehow, someone had smiled upon the two of them and given them peace and quiet enough to allow for an actual vacation. At the same time, even. They'd both seized the opportunity and held on for dear life. 

Coming to his family home had been his idea. A risky one, at best. He knew that there would be more bad memories than good waiting to greet him when he walked through the door. But it was still the home of his childhood. He hoped, maybe foolishly, that he and Phil could make some of their own good memories to push the lingering bad ones back into the shadows. He took it as a good sign that, so far, Phil hadn't gotten weird about being here. 

After they'd gotten everything stowed away into the proper drawers and cupboards and closets, Clint led Phil back downstairs into the kitchen area. He was glad he'd turned on the lights as they'd gone, because the darkness was already starting to creep in around the old house. That meant that there'd be little by way of exploring to be done until the sun came up, so he figured he'd make dinner and then they could chat until it was time to hit the hay. Maybe they could talk about what Phil would like to do come tomorrow. Assuming they got that far. Both of them were tired and stiff from spending so much time in the SUV. It could have been worse, though. They could have driven cross country in a Smart car. 

They'd brought some food with them, enough to make their evening meal and then some breakfast in the morning. Clint pulled out the chops and started the prep work on them while Phil went about getting the potatoes ready to go into the oven to roast. The two of them moved around the kitchen, and each other, in a seamless manner that would speak to their comfort and familiarity with one another to anyone who might see their actions. 

An hour later saw the two of them parked on one of the two sofas in the living room, their plates resting on the coffee table before them. Coasters had been settled under their bottles of water, and a shallow bowl filled with hot biscuits rested between them. They ate mostly in silence, the television tuned to an automotive restoration program so that they didn't have to think about the real world for a while.

"Its a good house, Clint. I know it must have been hard to make the decision to buy it, given what happened here in your youth. But its a good house. Its a good investment." Phil never looked away from the picture on the screen, the camera panning almost lovingly over the lines of a newly restored 1967 GTO. Clint couldn't blame him. Painted a deep purple, the car was absolutely beautiful. "Maybe we can find a way to bury the bad memories under loads of good ones." 

"I would really like to try," Clint replied. They'd long ago finished their meal and had been sitting in companionable silence for some time. While Phil's sentence hadn't been unexpected, Clint was surprised it had taken him so long to speak it. He didn't glance at Phil, didn't look around at all because a few of those bad memories were trying to push their way to the surface. Clint knew, if he flicked his gaze just a few feet to his right, he'd see the time his dad had nearly broken his mother's cheekbone because he'd hit her so hard. To the left, he'd see the night Barney had intentionally provoked the old man's temper to save Clint a sound thrashing. 

"Tell me about the good things you remember," Phil said softly. His words were a rope in the darkness, a way for Clint to pull himself away from the painful memories of his childhood. Clint grabbed onto those words as if they were an actual life line and used them to drag himself back to the here and now. 

His mind flashed to the sled propped up against the wall in the mud room. It was a perfect place to start. "Barney and I used to go sledding on the hill out there," Clint said, tipping his head toward the front of the house, toward the sloping ground that hid the house from the road. "One winter, the snow was so soft and so deep that we literally plowed right into a drift that had gathered at the bottom. We got snow in our mouths and our eyes and our ears. It ended up in our boots and up inside the arms and legs of our snowsuits. Mom had hot chocolate ready for us when we came in to help warm us up. We went out and did it again and again until we'd packed the snow down."

"It sounds like the two of you had fun. You both enjoyed the winters?" Phil asked, voice letting Clint know that Phil was warming to the subject the same way Clint was. 

That question brought forth soft laughter laced with happiness and joy. "Absolutely. We lived for it. Man, we couldn't wait for the first snow. If we weren't sledding, we were having snowballs fights. We'd build snow forts and play war. Whoever got pegged the most naturally lost. Barney never could figure out why I kept beating him."

Phil chuckled. "I'm sure he knew. But it was a good way to pass the day. So he never called you on it." 

"Don't you dare suggest Barney let me win." Clint made sure to put a hint of growl in his words. 

Phil held up his hands in mock surrender. "I would never be so crass as to do any such thing." 

The changing of the television program distracted them for a moment or two. It went from one restoration show to another. Clint picked up the remote and flicked it off. There was no point in watching the television any longer. They could find other ways to occupy themselves. 

~*~

Clint woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling ham. He knew Phil was up and at it already, no doubt almost done with breakfast. It was past time for Clint to drag his ass out of bed and get moving. He made a quick trip to the bathroom, then changed into fresh clothes for the day. After pulling the blankets back up to cover the mattress, he headed downstairs to see how long it would be before breakfast was served. Clint glanced out the windows as he went and took in the view of the surrounding area.

It had snowed during the night, the drive covered with an inch or so of the white stuff. It had been enough to cover over the tracks that marked their passing. Which meant that the air was very crisp and cold, that it smelled clean and fresh. He had no doubt that the kids in town would be out, playing in the snow and generally enjoying themselves. Snow had piled itself up on the bare branches of the elm, oak, birch, and maple trees, as well as on the needles of the evergreens. His yard looked like like it had come off a postcard. 

Phil was just putting plates on the island when Clint joined him in the kitchen. He watched the other man tend to the toast that had just popped up before heading to the coffee pot to pour himself his morning cup of joe. Phil already had a cup, nearly empty because he'd been working on it as he'd been working on breakfast, so Clint topped his mug off before collecting a pair of juice glasses and adding them to the island set up. He took the orange juice from the fridge and poured some into each glass, setting the carton down within easy reach for a refill. He pressed a quick kiss to the back of Phil's neck, scooped up the pan with the ham in it, and forked a slice onto each plate. 

As they had the night before, they worked in perfect harmony in order to finish the meal and get it served. When everything had been piled onto their plates, they took their seats and dug into breakfast. Clint's eggs were cooked to perfection, the yolks over easy so that he could dip his ham and his toast into them. Crispy hashbrowns rounded out the meal, and Phil had put both jam and honey on the table to go with their meal. 

"I though we'd go out to Thompson's tree farm today and pick our Christmas tree," Clint said between mouthfuls of eggs and ham.

"And what will we decorate with?" 

"Well, Hansen's market should have some we can pick up. Along with a tree stand and the rest of the groceries we'll need while we're here. You'll be able to see where I spent my time when I wasn't on the farm and you'll be able to meet some of the townspeople."

Phil nodded absently, his expression suggesting he was lost in thought. He chewed some ham and took a bite of eggs before he spoke again. "How late is the tree farm open? And Hansen's?" 

"Thompson's used to close at five. I don't know about now. It could be the same. It could have changed. Hansen's is open until nine, I think." Clint paused and stared at Phil a moment or two. "Why? What are you thinking?" 

"Well, there's that toboggan out in in the mud room. It would be a shame to waste it. And it would be a good way to build some new memories." 

Clint paused and stared at Phil. "You don't think we're just a touch too old to go sledding?" 

"Really? You're going to use old as an excuse not to go sledding? Especially given what we both do for a living?" Phil asked. 

Well, when Phil put it that way... "Can we have hot chocolate when we're done?" 

"I'll even make it with milk," Phil promised.

"Sweet!" Clint exclaimed happily, then dug into his breakfast with gusto. 

The two of them finished their morning meal in short order, then set about putting on their warm winter gear. Clint collected the toboggan on their way out the door, then took the lead to show Phil around to the front of the house. 

The air was just as brittle and crisp as he'd suspected it to be when he'd looked out the window earlier. It made the lungs ache just a bit with each breath and he could already feel it trying to burrow under his coat, into his boots and gloves, through his hat. Phil was gracious enough to allow him to go first, waited at the bottom of the hill while Clint trudged up to the top with the toboggan grasped tightly in one hand. 

The hill wasn't quite as high as he'd remembered it to be. But that memory came through the eyes of a small boy and the world had seemed much bigger back then. Still, it was plenty steep and a small thrill zinged through Clint as he found just the right spot to set the toboggan down. The snow was the heavy kind, wet and easily packed and perfect for sledding or snowball fights. After placing the sled, he took a few steps back, paused a moment, then leapt forward and threw himself onto the toboggan. It slid forward an inch, then he was flying down the hill.

There was a moment when he hit a bump under the snow and went airborne. And he thought that he'd stay that way, but then the blades of the toboggan found the snow again and he was back on solid ground. Mostly. Everything went by in a blur of grey and white and Clint felt his chest fill with exhileration. The same exhileration he'd felt as a young boy when he and Barney had done the same thing. The ride was over in a few seconds that had lasted for years and he found himself buried in the snowbank at the bottom of the hill. 

He was laughing when Phil helped extricated him from the frozen white mound, lungs aching with the lack of air and the bite of the cold. Phil was smiling at him, that indulgent one that he didn't share with many people. "That looked like fun." 

"It was. As fun as it was all those years ago. You gotta try it, Phil. You gotta try it and you gotta put the sled down exactly where I did. I swear you won't regret it." Clint told the man as he dusted the snow off of himself. 

"I wasn't planning on becoming a livng snowman," Phil replied tartly, watching closely as Clint continued brushing the snow from his coat. Clint looked up at him, sure that Phil wouldn't miss the snow clinging to his lashes, and offered him a knowing smile. He knew that tone of voice well. Phil held out for about two more minutes before he sighed softly and bent down to retrieve the toboggan. "But it does look fun." 

"Go on. Give it a go. When we're done, I'll take you inside and help warm you up," Clint promised, waggling his eyebrows at Phil. It was a silly action, and it brought laughter up Phil's throat. 

"How can I resist such an offer?" Phil asked. 

"You can't," Clint returned. Then he motioned toward the top of the hill. "Go on. Your turn. I'll be down here to dig you out of the snow." 

"Damn right you will, Barton," Phil told him. Clint just smiled and watched as Phil started his trek up the hill. 

Phil made it to the top and set the toboggan down exactly where Clint had told him to. Pleasure filled him. Coming here had been a good idea. Vacation had been a good idea. The air was crisp and bitingly cold. The snow was a thick, wet blanket that covered everything. It was peaceful and quiet. Already, Clint was making new memories. Happy memories to replace the bad. This, right here and right now, was perfect. Clint's life was perfect. 

"Hope you're proud of me, Mom," he whispered. Then he was laughing long and loud as Phil came flying down the hill, hands curled tight around the front of the toboggan. He'd done the same as Clint, taking a few running steps before throwing himself down onto the surface of the sled on his stomach. And now he was going head first into the snowbank at the base of the hill. Clint's laughter echoed around the clearing. 

A flake of snow brushed against his cheek, followed by another and another. Clint glanced around to find that a soft, gentle snowfall had started. A total of five flakes touched the curve of his cheek, feather light touches that reminded him of how his mother used to trail her fingers over his skin in the same spot. Every time she had done so, she'd coupled it with her soft, gentle voice. 

_"I love you, Clint, and I'm so proud of you. Don't ever forget that."_


End file.
